I’ve never seen her fish for compliments.
A testimonial will make her wince;
she disregards most subtext and warm hints.
She understands her own intelligence.
Accustomed to disparagement long since
(her mother ever criticized her flaws
and no rebuttal served to unconvince),
she learned self-validation, just because.
(Huitain)
The forecast harks to winter long ago.
I’m cozy and more rain’s about to start.
Like pre-drought January’s past, I’ve no
doubt weather will be wet. I sit apart
from stress and crowds, and traffic’s softly slow.
A front that fizzles out won’t break my heart.
I know that climate change is real, and yet
for half a week I’m able to forget.
(Ottava Rima)
They cannot guess, because I love them so,
their company can tire and depress
my spirit. I’m aware of that, although
they cannot guess.
Sometimes the time with them is full of stress.
I think they’ll learn that when their children grow –
they’ll love and wish them well, but they’ll confess
that days apart can be the way to go.
Like me they’ll value then their own address.
It’s something only older parents know.
They cannot guess.
(Roundel)
Sheets in the dryer. Turn on the fire. What will inspire
a stanza today?
I don’t require a poem as in prior A.M.s – there’s no buyer
for posting display.
Nothing too dire’s about to transpire. I’ve got no choir
to sing or to pray.
And there’s no supplier of fuel for satire. This versifier
will put pen away.
I seldom take much time to fall asleep.
I slumber lightly but I drift off fast.
Last night, although I had no woes to keep
me conscious, no anxieties amassed,
I didn’t welcome Morpheus. At last,
from 2 a.m. to 7, I went where
my dreams are stored and fantasies are cast.
Today my bath will feature Sleepy Bear.
(Huitain)
I like a jigsaw puzzle, but my place
is less than half a thousand of square feet.
I only have one table in the space,
and puzzle pieces cover its complete
rectangle surface in the present case
(1,000-piece is twice what would be meet).
But it’s a loving gift, well-cut and -inked.
I’ll have to concentrate and get it linked.
(Ottava Rima)
My thoughts of yesterday, about last year,
I shared with whom I call my closest friend.
For half a century, she’s been the peer
I talk to most. And sometimes we contend,
but mostly we agree and don’t offend.
She countered she’s so much in here and now,
she never harkens back, as if that trend
were harmful. Then she took a little bow.
(Huitain)
Assessing Twenty Twenty Two today,
I think it was a better year for me
than several recently. I have to say –
I got along with everyone I love;
the fire season spared us smoke; dismay
about our politics was almost low;
my health improved (though Covid had its way).
Anticipating Twenty Twenty Three
I’m mystified, and yet I feel okay.
(Magic 9)
My oldest friend complained the other day
her back is sore. She’s feeling like a wretch.
She moaned a lot and then went on to say
she’ll tend to it next week. “Don’t be a kvetch,”
I countered. “There’s no reason to delay.
Get on your rug right now and start to stretch.”
(She later thanked me nicely more than twice,
for words too obvious to be advice.)
(Ottava Rima)
Subliming from a solid to a gas,
your arrow’s on an arc to miss my heart.
It’s not that I’d invite a sexy pass,
but if our discourse is to have a start,
it’s well you’ve moved from arrogant and crass,
though nephew-like respect should have no part.
Old fellow, my affection might be won
if we could talk and flirt, and have some fun.
(Ottava Rima)
 | sputterpub on About Mom, With Love |
 | groomie on About Mom, With Love |
| sputterpub on No Blocks |
 | Caleb Cheruiyot on No Blocks |
| sputterpub on For Now |
Sputterpub's Blog 